


Meet Me in the Hallway

by leeds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Styles - Fandom, cillian murphy - Fandom
Genre: Cillian is 18 years older than Harry but they don't mind the age difference, Cillian is Ravenclaw and Harry is Gryffindor, Cillian is the Transfiguration professor, Cillian's whole family is teachers so he followed in their footsteps by becoming one at Hogwarts, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Harry Potter and the gang are also mentioned, Harry is the new Charms professor, He has a cat, I mean Cillian's looked the same for 20 years so, Jamie Dornan and Louis Tomlinson are briefly mentioned, M/M, Minor Drug and Alcohol Use, Smut, Teacher/Student Roleplay, but they don't actually appear in the fic, did I mention this is an HP fic?, he also has a cat, oh also Cillian has a band
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:30:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leeds/pseuds/leeds
Summary: Harry is the new Charms professor and Cillian is the Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts, aka the fic that nobody asked for in which Harry Styles and Cillian Murphy have a magical connection.





	Meet Me in the Hallway

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on here! Yay! I never imagined it would be a fic like this, but I am completely enamored of both Harry and Cillian and there is an extreme lack of Harry/Cillian fics. (See Dunkirk in theaters in the US on July 21!)

_Pop!_

Harry had apparated to a spot that nobody could see and walked with his trunk and cat through the wall between platform nine and ten to get to platform nine and three-quarters. His hand was sweating around the letter he had received weeks before from Headmistress McGonagall, telling him that he would soon be the new Charms professor. It was all he could think about since he received it.

Harry had only graduated 5 years previously, which meant that there were still two classes that he had gone to school with, which made him, well, kind of uncomfortable. He couldn’t believe McGonagall hired him, but, after all, he was at the top of his class (and it helped that he was in Gryffindor).

He ran a hand through his cropped, curly locks before making his way into the Hogwarts Express, tuning out the students’ chit-chat about how _there’s the new Charms professor! Yeah, he took over for Professor Flitwick. Bloody ’ell, Professor Styles is attractive_ …His grey cotton robes were suddenly too hot. It’s not that he didn’t like the attention—he loved attention—it’s just that he didn’t want the wrong type of attention. He wanted to gain the reputation of an excellent Charms teacher, not a sexual object.

Harry stopped at one of the cabins, eyes on the one man sitting inside of it. He was older, most definitely not one of the students, but he was the kind of person whose age you couldn't tell. And he looked strangely familiar, but Harry couldn’t place him. All Harry knew was that he was beautiful. He looked fake, _too_ perfect.

He must have stood there staring for too long— _Harry, where are your manners?_ he could hear his mum telling him—because now the man was staring back at him. Harry watched with horror, shame, and embarrassment (a lot of emotions raced through him in those few moments) as the man got up and opened the door to the cabin, right in front of him now, almost Harry’s height and blue eyes as clear as Hanauma Bay.

“Would you like to come inside?” the man asked with a low voice, an Irish accent and a small smile. Harry nodded, and his cat meowed inside her carrier. The man smiled again at that.

“Cillian Murphy. Professor of Transfiguration,” the man said, and held out his hand. Harry shook it.

“Harry Styles. Professor of Charms.”

“Ah, yes, you replaced Flitwick.” Cillian nodded inside. “Your cat probably sensed mine.”

Harry spotted the ginger cat mentioned as he moved himself into the cabin, and sat directly across from the man whose short dark hair hung free as he read a book. After observing the man for a few minutes, a few minutes of Cillian barely reading and mostly glancing up at the green-eyed young man in front of him, Harry finally remembered where he had seen him before.

“Hey, didn’t you play a gig at Moonstone Tavern a month or two ago?” Harry asked, and the man looked up for the umpteenth time.

“Yeah, with my band, Alpha Orionis. It was a pretty good gig, you were there?”

“I was—and pretty good? It was really good, actually. There hadn’t been anyone that good there for months, that’s why I remembered you. You’re the singer, right? And you played bass, or was it guitar?”

“Guitar.” Cillian smiled with raised eyebrows, legs crossed and book abandoned. He was surprised. He never talked to anyone about his music.

“I play guitar as well, but not when I sing. It’s more of a hobby,” Harry said conversationally.

“You sing?” Cillian looked impressed.

“Yeah, but—”

“I bet you’re fantastic,” said Cillian with a twinkle in his eye. This man was a little odd, thought Harry.

“I already know you are,” said Harry before he could stop himself.

Cillian smiled, a beautiful sight.

“So—” said Harry after a moment of silence. Cillian looked up again. “So…what’s your story, then? Girlfriend? Wife? Boyfriend? Husband?”

“None of the above,” Cillian answered, amused. Harry internally groaned. He hoped that this would be easier.

“Then what’s y—”

“I like guys, don’t worry.”

“Oh. Well. Me too.”

“I know.”

“Can you really tell?” Harry never thought himself to be outwardly gay, but maybe it was obvious and he didn’t know it.

“Well, it’s easy to tell when someone is into you,” said Cillian, and Harry was taken aback. He felt exposed, and a blush crept into his cheeks.

“Are you in my mind or something?” asked Harry, and he wondered how normal this conversation was.

“Oh, god no! I’m a horrible Legilimens.”

“Nice to know.” Harry smiled.

“Oh, no, don’t tell me _you’re_ good at legilimency! Now I know you can get into _my_ head! Not that you’re not in it already.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.” Cillian nodded.

Cillian returned to his reading, and Harry opened his cat’s carrier, freeing a lethargic black cat.

“What’s its name?” Cillian asked.

“I think you should give up on that book,” laughed Harry.

“Well that’s an odd name for a cat,” Cillian joked.

“Regulus.”

“Were you Slytherin?”

“Gryffindor, why?”

“Ah, it’s just a Slytherin kind of name, that’s all.”

“What were you?”

“Ravenclaw.”

Harry nodded. “How old are you?”

“Forty-one.”

“Shit,” Harry said under his breath, making Cillian’s eyebrows raise. “I was thinking you were thirty at the most.”

“That’s very flattering. That makes me how much older than you then?”

“Eighteen years,” Harry said after a second of thought.

“Shit,” Cillian said, nodding in agreement. “Twenty-three…Well, that’s not too bad, at least I look only seven years older than you—according to you, of course.” He smiled.

They talked about a number of things on their way to Hogwarts, like their families—Cillian’s parents and grandparents and so on were all teachers, but not at the same schools. He grew up in Cork, Ireland, but when he started going to Hogwarts, his parents moved to France, where his mother worked and still works at Beauxbatons. Harry found this all to be very interesting, and spoke of his own parents, mostly his supportive mum, Anne, and his older sister, Gemma, who he went to school with for 3 years before she graduated.

They shared a cauldron cake (“Would you like anything?” Harry asked. “Something with chocolate.” “Chocolate frog?” “Nah, I don’t have much of an affinity for frogs.” “Cauldron cake it is.”) and a cigarette before they arrived at their destination.

“‘ARRY! It’s nice to see you, ‘arry number two!” bellowed the bearded half-giant from the midst of a group of first-years.

“Nice to see you, Hagrid!” Harry replied with a charming smile, and turned to make sure that Cillian was still behind him.

“Ah, I see you’ve met Cilly!” Cillian rolled his eyes.

“Good luck with the first-years, Hagrid!” Cillian said before steering he and Harry away.

“Lead the way, Cilly,” Harry said quietly as he was dragged toward the castle, and they both smirked into the darkness.

-

Although Harry had become comfortable in his retro-chic flat in London, it felt as though he had never left. The Great Hall was warm and welcoming, with Headmistress McGonagall standing in her usual place at the head of the hall as the Houses and unknowns poured inside, the youngest looking up at the spectacular sight of what seemed to be thousands of floating candles, glowing below the starry night sky.

Harry took his seat at the High Table beside Cillian, who sat beside McGonagall. He wondered if their preferred subject of Transfiguration gave them a certain bond, regardless of House. The thought came as soon as it went, however, for the night truly began.

Harry enjoyed watching the first-years getting Sorted, the expressions of either elation, disappointment, or confusion (and sometimes anger, like one boy from a family of Slytherins who got Sorted into Ravenclaw—“I don’t know what he’s fussing about,” Cillian whispered into Harry’s neck) on their faces.

Harry often noticed people pointing and staring at him, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if they were actually singling out the dark-haired, light-eyed god beside him. This day had already promised him another interesting experience at his former school, and the excitement of that bubbled inside of him—a feast was added to that cauldron as well, leaving him in a sort of coma that ensured the assistance of Cillian in getting him to his bedroom. He fell asleep the moment Cillian laid him on his gigantic four-poster, almost purring from the softness of the scarlet covers.

“Goodnight, kitten,” Cillian said before the door was shut, and Harry wondered whether he was talking to him or Regulus.

-

“I honestly don’t know how I ended up in Ravenclaw. I’m horrible at so many things.”

“But you are intelligent, creative…beautiful,” Harry smiled. Cillian looked at him with his translucent blue eyes, and Harry thought he could see, for a moment, what Cillian was feeling. When Harry felt Cillian’s lips on his, Cillian’s fingers brushing his face, he couldn’t breathe. All was still. Cillian stood up and walked away, and Harry had the strangest feeling in the pit of his stomach. The most beautiful man had kissed him and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t real…

_Harry. Harry, wake up._

Harry woke with a start, looking around frantically, the feeling of Cillian’s hands still on his shoulders. Cillian’s watery eyes came into view, and they were large and concerned. He was sitting beside Harry on the crimson bed. Harry’s blankets were kicked off of him, in a bunch by his feet. Cillian exhaled a deep breath, putting his hands down so that Harry was lying between his arms.

“You didn’t show up in the Great Hall this morning, or at your first class…” said Cillian, head slung low.

“Shit,” Harry groaned. He overslept. He let his arms collapse beneath him, and lay flat on his bed. His hand knocked into the side of Cillian’s arm as he did so, causing Cillian to start to move away, but Harry pinned his hands back down quickly, a little too quickly than he meant to. Cillian gulped.

“Yeah, shit, I, uh…” Cillian mumbled, attempting to get up but failing in Harry’s grip.

“You cursed,” Harry smirked. Harry’s smirk dropped when he noticed the obvious tent in his pants, because of course he had to wake up hard. Cillian glanced down to see what Harry was looking at, and Harry was immediately mortified. It took Cillian a moment to process what he was looking at, but when he did, he couldn’t move. He was stunned into silence and petrification—well, except for his dick, which twitched as dirty thoughts raced through his mind.

Now Harry could feel how hard he was. He ached to be touched.

“Cillian,” whispered Harry, biting his lip. He thought that if the circumstances were different, Cillian would have corrected him with a quick, “Professor Murphy,” but he didn’t. They had been on a first-name basis since their first encounter. _You’re a teacher now, not a student,_ thought Harry. _Get your act together._ Cillian just stared at him, and it seemed as though he were looking into him. “Please.” Harry was pleading for the unspeakable.

He let go of Cillian’s hands. They didn’t move.

Cillian sighed, eyes focused on Harry’s chest. “You make me nervous.” Harry looked at him, surprised. Cillian looked up again, and smiled. He leaned in towards Harry, who wasn’t dreaming this time, and kissed him. Really, truly kissed him. He had given in.

Harry trailed his lips down to Cillian’s neck and kissed the soft skin.

“Shall we fuck?” Cillian whispered into Harry’s ear, and the younger man’s heart stopped. How could he make such a question sound so gentlemanly?

“Fuck,” said Harry breathily, heart racing now. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes.”

“Yes to maybe, or yes to fucking me? Or me fucking you, whichever you prefer.”

“Yes to you fucking me.”

“Ah, I had a feeling.”

“Shut up and get me off,” Harry groaned.

“Of course,” said Cillian with a smirk, like it was a request he normally accepted. Harry hoped it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t.

Cillian pulled Harry’s pajama bottoms completely off, throwing them to the side. He grabbed hold of Harry’s aching cock, thick and pink. His hands were clumsy, eager.

“Fuck,” mumbled Cillian, and licked into Harry’s mouth before trailing his lips and tongue down his neck and collarbone. He pulled back and stared at Harry, who felt exposed. “God, you’re so beautiful. Been wanting to do this since I first laid eyes on you.” At that, he leaned down and licked at the head of Harry’s cock before taking almost his entire length into his mouth, humming.

The combination of Cillian’s wet, hot mouth and the vibrations from his throat put Harry in a speechless state. He panted as Cillian bobbed his head. Harry struggled to look at Cillian—he was so good at this and Harry had imagined this so often in the past 24 hours, including in his sleep that lasted too long, apparently. There was a certain feeling of embarrassment from this sizzling underneath Harry’s skin, even though Cillian had no knowledge of his visits to Harry’s dreams. On second thought, he probably (no, definitely) did, making Harry flush. He may be a terrible Legilimens, but he could read Harry like an open book.

The one word that slipped out of Harry’s mouth was, “ _Professor_.” Cillian felt his pants get tighter and attempted to get himself off by rubbing his erection against the bed. It was so hot, Harry couldn’t take it. He needed Cillian inside of him as soon as possible.

Harry’s back arched, mouth gaping open as his hair stuck to his perspiring forehead. His body was on fire, his insides boiling. It was a mystery that the sheets he dragged against weren’t burning around him.

By now Cillian was moving his mouth up Harry’s body, stopping at one half of the pair of tattooed birds on his chest. Harry was heavily tattooed, the dark ink stark against his pale skin. Cillian lay soft kisses in a trail up to Harry’s mouth. After kissing him tenderly, he looked into Harry’s eyes and smiled, and Harry swore he could hear angels singing.

Cillian’s eyes darkened and he licked his lips. “Have you been a bad student, Harry?” he asked. Harry shuddered.

“Y-yes,” Harry responded.

“You know, you’re almost young enough to be one of my students,” Cillian whispered in his ear. The thought made Harry groan. His body desperately needed attention. “So, you’re a bad boy…you know what happens to bad boys?”

“What?” Harry asked, his voice strained.

“They get punished,” Cillian concluded. _Yes_ , Harry thought. _Yes, punish me._

“Punish me! Fuck! Fucking punish me, I’ve been a bad boy!” Harry screamed into the still tower.

Cillian’s tongue clicked. “Eager to be the teacher’s pet, I see.” He nipped at Harry’s neck. Harry groped at Cillian—he couldn’t believe he was still dressed; he just wouldn’t have it.

“ _Off_ ,” Harry said to Cillian’s trousers after he had gotten his robes off. God, he was so smooth, so perfect.

“Want your professor’s cock? Beg for it,” Cillian said, a hand wrapped around Harry’s dick and a sinister yet playful smile on his face. Harry almost cried.

“ _Please_ ,” Harry begged. “I _need_ you, need you inside of me.” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as Cillian stroked him. Cillian smiled again and kissed the younger man beneath him.

“Deal,” said Cillian as he helped Harry in removing his own tailored trousers.

Once both were bare, they were attached. Harry pulled them together, frottage ensuing for what felt like forever until Cillian laid back, pulling Harry on top of him, and placed the tip of his finger at Harry’s entrance. Harry relaxed, letting Cillian slip his finger in to loosen him the slightest. A chill coursed through his abdomen, and he let out a clenched-tooth groan. Cillian’s other hand gripped Harry’s slim waist as he added another finger. Harry sucked Cillian’s neck, whining into it as Cillian’s fingers pumped in and out of him at a solid pace.

“That’s right, purr for me, kitten,” said Cillian softly. He added a third finger, and Harry moaned as it brushed his prostate. He arched into each thrust of Cillian’s hand, taking it as rough as he could.

“Need you,” Harry said, kissing the words into Cillian’s jugular.

“The best is yet to come,” smiled Cillian. Harry loved the way he said things; he could listen to him for hours.

Cillian toppled Harry onto his back. “Ready for me, darling?” He didn’t need an answer. The answer was yes, always yes. So he aligned himself with Harry’s entrance and slowly pushed himself inside. There they lay together, on an ancient bed in an ancient tower like two princes, their moans almost making their way through the stone walls and into the Gryffindor common room.

The sound of skin pounding against skin, with periods of slow thrusting and deep kissing, bounced off of the walls, barely suppressed by the red oriental rug that had probably been there for a century, or two, or three. Harry’s cat hid under a large plush chair, evidently frightened by his owner’s primal yells mingled with those of Cillian.

He and Cillian were most definitely in the four-poster bed, but Harry felt as though they were the phoenix painted on the ceiling, soaring high above the ground.

On his hands and knees now, Harry felt Cillian’s strong grip, and the ruthless movements of his hips made the wood of the bed frame groan. A couple more thrusts and Harry was cumming as he yelled Cillian’s name and stars appeared in his vision. Cillian pulled out and came onto Harry’s back as he continued to rub himself off against him.

Exhausted, Cillian fell to the bed beside Harry, a lazy smile creeping onto his face. His pupils drowned in his liquid irises, mostly covered by heavy eyelids but shining especially bright. Harry wished he could paint what he saw. Cillian’s figure beside him was breathtaking, and something he could get used to.

Suddenly, there was a rapping of knocks on his bedroom door, making him jump. Cillian was still, his eyes wider, and immediately got under the covers. Harry moved quickly, grabbing his wand to quickly clothe and then compose himself before opening the door.

Standing in front of him was Headmistress McGonagall. Shit, he thought. This was it, he was getting the boot.

“You look frightened, Professor Styles, am I really that scary?” she asked. Harry shook his head.

“Headmistress McGonagall,” said Harry, “I know I missed my first class this morning, and I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again—”

“Yes, yes, you can make that up to me by baking that bread you used to bring me as a bribe to bring your Transfiguration grade up.” Harry heard a muted but full laugh from his bed and bit his lip.

“Is that a pair of blue eyes I see?” asked Headmistress McGonagall, looking past Harry to his mussed bed. Harry looked as well, and although Cillian was most definitely not visible aside from the lump he made, he could not argue with her.

Cillian’s head appeared from under the covers. “Morning, Minerva,” he greeted her with an uncomfortable smile.

“I’ve been looking for you, Professor Murphy,” said the Headmistress. “Fortunately you’re not the quietest when you’re hiding.” Harry covered his face with his hands, too embarrassed to look at anyone. “But who am I to tell a grown man what to do?”

There was an awkward pause.

“What is it you need, Minerva?” Cillian asked respectfully.

“A band.” Harry looked up. “I have been informed that you have one, and we need entertainment at the Hallows Ball.”

“I think that could be arranged,” Cillian replied, his upper body shamelessly uncovered. Harry blushed at him from across the room. Cillian gave him an everlasting smile and nodded to Headmistress McGonagall, who said goodbye and—finally, thought Harry—left.

Cillian threw off the covers and slipped into his boxers before striding over to Harry, who sat at his windowsill, appreciating the beautiful view of the Hogwarts grounds.

“You miss it?” Cillian asked.

“Not especially, but it just feels right when I’m here. Like a home away from home.”

“It was my home away from home.” Harry looked at Cillian, whose eyes sparkled in the early afternoon light. Harry remembered that Cillian’s parents had moved to France.

“You stayed here all the time? No French vacations?”

“Oh, there were a couple,” Cillian quickly said, “and I still had my grandparents in Ireland…but I felt there were greater things for me here.” He gave a small smile, like he was remembering his time at Hogwarts, almost 25 years ago— _before I was fucking born_ , Harry thought.

“Did you know then that you were gay?” Harry suddenly asked. Cillian was taken slightly aback.

“Well, mostly,” Cillian answered, and smiled thoughtfully. He laughed. “I had a boyfriend.”

“What was his name?”

“Jamie. He was a real asshole, but he was pretty hot. He knew it, too.” He barked out another laugh.

“What house was he in?”

“Slytherin.”

“Ahh.”

“He fits the description?”

“Definitely.”

“Yeah, we only dated for part of our seventh year, but he said he had admired me since year 1.”

“How sweet.” Cillian smirked at him.

“Nothing about him was sweet. He was a funny guy, and a savage in bed. I treated him the way he treated me, though.”

“You shagged him?” Cillian smiled again, nodding and probably recalling one of those nights in which they had to be quiet as one of them got fucked in a room shared by other people (and they all knew what was happening as it happened, of course—it was hard to hide your whereabouts when all of the furniture was so creaky, for Christ’s sake, and therefore even harder to hide your sexuality when a handful of students could hear the smallest of moans as they bounced off the stone castle walls).

“In the Slytherin or Ravenclaw dorms?”

“Ravenclaw, of course! There was no way in hell I was going to let someone fuck me in the same vicinity as Draco Malfoy. Although it probably would have scarred him and made him realize his sexuality sooner.” Harry stared at him with disbelief, his jaw dropped.

“Shit, I totally did not think about whether or not you went to school with Harry fucking Potter! And like every important person mentioned when talking about Hogwarts Alumni!” Harry suddenly stopped in his tracks. “Dumbledore…” Harry said quietly, looking sad. “Were you a student when he died?”

“I was in my seventh year when Harry Potter and company were in their third year, so no, I was not. We were very close, though, so I did attend the funeral. I was close to him like I am with Minerva, because her, Dumbledore, and I all had a special interest in Transfiguration, and I now have the honor of being its Professor, which was Minerva’s job and Dumbledore’s before her.” He sighed. “It’s all very sentimental, really. I’m just glad I’m not here permanently, that I can return to my flat and my band and something that isn’t _teaching_.” He suddenly stared right at Harry, and it made Harry’s skin burn. Although he did not say the words, Harry could feel them: _But now you’re here._

There was so much more Harry wanted to talk about with him, but he and Cillian both had classes to teach. So, they parted ways after one last kiss behind Harry’s bedroom door.

-

Teaching was hard. Harder than expected. Especially when you had a pretty face and not a strict bone in your body. So, Harry had to deal with ogling girls and the occasional hormonal boy licking his lips and paying attention to Harry’s pants rather than his lesson, but the day was okay, overall, and ended with a large meal next to a beautiful man.

Cillian chatted and laughed with Harry the entire time, not afraid to be flirty with him in front of the entire school. Harry grabbed his knee under the table, and Cillian looked at him fondly as he chewed his roast beef.

Later that night, Harry kissed Cillian’s toffee-flavored mouth, bare chests touching and hands wandering into tight spaces. Soon Harry lay prostrate on the bed, Cillian’s hands spreading him apart and licking at him, making him cry out into the candled night.

-

Word had spread. Cillian would meet him in the hall at break and they would walk as if they had a perfectly ordinary coworker relationship, but sometimes Cillian would pull Harry into his classroom a little too aggressively before pulling the door shut behind them and locking it for people not to notice…and then it happened.

Cillian escorted Harry to his classroom one afternoon in late September, and Cillian looked so good that Harry couldn’t help it—without thinking, Harry had crowded Cillian against the wall, and the next moment, his lips were on Cillian’s. Harry’s mouth was attached to Cillian’s jaw by the time various gasps sounded behind him.

“Uh-oh,” Harry said, head falling to Cillian’s shoulder. He could feel the heat in his cheeks.

Harry felt Cillian’s hand still on his back, the other one holding the nape of his neck. “You have a class to teach, Harry.” Harry could hear the smile in Cillian’s voice, so he knew Cillian wasn’t worried, but he was still embarrassed. He could not face teenagers right now.

“I can’t do it,” Harry whined into Cillian’s neck.

“Yes you can,” laughed Cillian. “C’mon, Gryffindor, where’s that bravery?” Automatically Harry heard a collective, _“Oooohhhh!”_ and laughter from his next group of students. Harry was the luckiest person in the world that that group happened to consist of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors who wouldn’t dare say anything bad about their Houses’ teachers, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t talk about it.

Cillian finally convinced Harry to turn around, and then left to teach his own waiting class, giving Harry one last salute before he turned into another hall. Harry taught his class as if they had not just seen two of their professors kissing in the hallway, or at least tried to as his students whispered about it the entire period.

One Ravenclaw boy raised his hand at one point and asked, “Are you gay, Professor Styles?”

Harry sighed and said, “Yes, Kelly, I’m gay, now can we get back to learning the Mending Charm?” The class seemed calmer after that point, seemingly satisfied.

So, by the next week, almost everyone knew of Professor Styles and Professor Murphy’s intimate relationship. They continued their usual behavior, though—this was the twenty-first century; people were gay. It’s not like anyone was particularly complaining about an assumed sexual relationship between the two hottest professors at the school. It was mere fuel of late-night fantasies and hopefully assisted in the frustrations of at least a couple students.

-

“You never told me whether or not _you_ knew if you were gay during your time here,” Cillian said on a Saturday morning as they lay in Cillian’s bed.

“I did,” Harry said. “I knew since year four. I was in love with my best friend.” The memory clenched his throat, and he swallowed. Cillian looked at him then, wanting to know more. “His name was Louis, and he was in love with me, too. You could say that our relationship was a well-known one while we were here.” Harry looked away, recalling sad memories that occurred after such good ones. “But we drifted.”

After Harry didn’t say anything for a moment or two, Cillian asked, “Why?”

Harry frowned. “It wasn’t meant to be. After we graduated, we just kind of burned out. The spark that once was…wasn’t anymore. I wanted so much from him, but he failed me.”

“Did he cheat?” Cillian asked angrily, before saying a quick, “Sorry.” Harry nodded.

“He was so committed to me, then all of a sudden, he didn’t want to be tied down.”

“How could he do that?” Cillian exclaimed. He straddled Harry. “Fucker,” he said before kissing the green-eyed boy, renewing his feeling of warmth and love. Harry may have loved Louis at one point, but nothing compared to the love he felt for the man on top of him, breathing life into every pore of his body. This love felt wholesome, like a love he could trust.

-

The Hallows Ball approached quickly, and Cillian found a bouquet of enchanted red roses on his desk when class started on the morning the week before. They all turned into irises when one of them was touched by the person connected to the enchantment.

With his students seated and silent, Cillian smiled at the grand bouquet. His fingertip touched one of the soft petals, and the transformation occurred. He was absolutely enamored, blue eyes wide. He found a small card attached to the flowers’ vase, which read:

_From red to blue_  
_I love you_  
_…Will you go to the Hallows Ball with me?_

_H xx_

Cillian laughed with tears in his eyes, which he wiped as they rolled down his face, hot and happy.

“Excuse me,” he said to his class as he jogged out of his classroom, a smile plastered on his wet face.

He ran to Harry’s classroom, still running even after the door was flung open, and picked up a surprised Harry in barely a second of being in the room; he kissed him before resting him back down on the ground.

“I love you,” Cillian whispered in Harry’s ear, and Harry kissed him this time, his class frozen as they continued to watch the encounter, which ended as quickly as it started, with Professor Murphy running out of the classroom, leaving behind a grinning Professor Styles.

Harry coughed. “Anyway, back to the lesson.”

-

Harry wore a black pinstriped suit for the Hallows Ball, the pants especially high-waisted and the jacket acting as a shirt, while Cillian was in a fitted black suit with a black dress shirt underneath. They looked like a perfectly dashing couple.

Cillian’s band, Alpha Orionis, did end up being the entertainment of the night, and Harry stole kisses from Cillian between (and during) songs as he danced with and around him, bathed in purple and orange light.

“We have a surprise guest performer tonight,” Cillian said to the sea of students with a mischievous smile. Harry lifted his head to look at Cillian, sensing trouble amuck, and sure thing, Cillian was staring right at him. “Harry Styles, ladies and gentleman!” Harry was already shaking his head before he said it, but Cillian dragged him over to the mic stand as the entire room applauded, excited for the unexpected performance.

“Sing for me, darling,” Cillian said to him. “What song will it be?”

Harry rolled his eyes with a smile. Cillian would totally pay for this later. “I’ll sing an original,” Harry said to him, and smiled. “Just for you.”

So Harry waved his wand toward the band, a spell on his lips, and they started playing his song.

_Meet me in the hallway_  
_Meet me in the hallway_  
_I just left your bedroom, give me some morphine_  
_Is there any more to do?_

Harry sang to Cillian, who watched him intensely.

_Just let me know, I’ll be at the door, at the door_  
_hoping you’ll come around_  
_Just let me know, I’ll be on the floor, on the floor_  
_Maybe we’ll work it out_  
_I gotta get better, gotta get better_  
_I gotta get better, gotta get better_  
_I gotta get better, gotta get better_  
_And maybe we’ll work it out_

Cillian was mesmerized.

_I walked the streets all day_  
_Running with the thieves_  
_‘Cause you left me in the hallway_  
_Give me some more_  
_Just take the pain away_

_Just let me know, I’ll be at the door, at the door_  
_hoping you’ll come around_  
_Just let me know, I’ll be on the floor, on the floor_  
_Maybe we’ll work it out_  
_I gotta get better, gotta get better_  
_I gotta get better, gotta get better_  
_Gotta get better, gotta get better_  
_And maybe we’ll work it out_

Cillian played passionately, wording _I love you_ to Harry as he did. Harry smiled and continued singing.

_We don’t talk about it_  
_It’s something we don’t do_  
_‘Cause once you go without it_  
_Nothing else will do_

The song ended, meeting tremendous applause and more than a few whistles. It was almost as if everyone was shocked into hysteria, because…damn, Professor Styles was amazing. And Cillian told him so.

“That was fucking amazing!” Cillian exclaimed, embracing his boyfriend. Their lips met, smiles tugging at them. Harry felt adrenaline course through his entire body, and put that energy into giving attention to the man that he loved. They received more whistles and spared everyone for a few moments with a few more songs from Cillian.

“Shit!” Cillian yelled into the sconce-lit hallway after the Ball had ended, still unbelievably amazed by Harry’s performance. “I love you!” He grinned, a little tipsy from the spiked pumpkin juice that Harry had snuck in for him.

“Guess what?” Harry said in a hushed voice.

“What, darling?”

Harry reached into his jacket and pulled out a few thin, white objects.

“No fucking way!” laughed Cillian. “Spliffs? Really?”

“Keep it down,” Harry said, looking around him to make sure nobody heard. “I got them from a seventh year.” Cillian continued to laugh, very amused by the situation. They walked to Harry’s room, but they didn’t even make it inside before Cillian had Harry against the stone wall, jacket unbuttoned to show his tattooed torso. Cillian’s hands on Harry’s bare waist and Cillian’s leg between Harry’s, they kissed. A few straggling students passed by them, staring. Not completely careless, they found it in themselves to move past the door, and locked it behind them.

“Wanna fuck you tonight,” Harry said to Cillian between kisses.

“Please,” pleaded Cillian.

They undressed and moved to the large four-poster. Harry sat and allowed for Cillian sit atop him so that they were facing each other, and Cillian stroked them both while Harry had his fingers prodding at Cillian’s tight hole. Cillian winced as Harry’s digits disappeared inside of him and then thrust in and out. Cillian relaxed and let Harry loosen him.

“Ready,” Cillian breathed into Harry’s shoulder after a few minutes. Harry lined Cillian up with his hard length and slowly lowered him onto it. Cillian’s breath hitched as he bottomed out. Harry lifted Cillian’s hips and lowered him again before Cillian took control.

Cillian panted on Harry’s cock, riding him fast and hot. He moaned loudly, hands behind him as he then rolled his hips down slowly, taking Harry deep inside of him so that he hit his prostate every time. His skin shone, and Harry groaned at the sight of him and from the feeling of being inside such a divine being. Their lips joined, and they kissed with a sweetness that was incomparable, even with Harry balls-deep in Cillian. Their love was unparalleled, period.

Cillian came first, cum landing on Harry’s stomach and chest, dripping down his dark tattoos. Harry came inside of Cillian after another roll of the hips, and they both exhaled, exhausted.

Once they were cleaned with a quick spell, they lit the spliffs Harry had gotten from the seventh year boy and smoked them between lazy kisses. Harry looked into Cillian’s bright blue, reddened eyes and thought about how lucky he was. Magic may be apart of their existence, but Harry had never felt magic like the connection they shared.

-

December was a month of planning for Cillian and Harry, and the verdict was that Harry would accompany Cillian to France for a week to meet his parents, and then they would spend the next week with Harry’s mum and step-dad in London. This caused Harry to be a nervous wreck, but once they were in Toulouse, he felt wonderful. The day was clear and the air was cool, and Cillian looked absolutely stunning in Muggle clothing and a pair of sunglasses.

Cillian removed his sunglasses and bit his lip, sharing the same thoughts as Harry. “You look absolutely gorgeous,” he said, and kissed his handsome boyfriend. It was a quick kiss, but Harry drew Cillian back in, who smiled into it.

“God, I love you,” Harry said, beginning to plant kisses all over Cillian’s face. Cillian winced and shooed him away.

“I love you too, you knob,” said Cillian, who smiled and then laughed after seeing the expression on Harry’s face and being hit in the arm by him.

They finally arrived at Cillian’s parents’ house, where they were welcomed with open arms. Cillian’s parents were pretty average, as far as wizards go. It felt comfortable with them, for they had known Cillian was gay for decades, which was mind-blowing for Harry. Everything felt so easy with Cillian.

Cillian’s parents told funny stories from their sons’ and daughters’ childhood which had Harry keeling over and Cillian giggling with the occasional eye roll of his. The siblings mentioned did not arrive until later that day, but when they did, they were as welcoming as their parents, ecstatic that their brother had finally found love.

So, the week was calm and lovely, and went by too fast, in Harry’s opinion. They were to leave for Harry’s house on Christmas Eve, but before they left, they opened their Christmas presents. Harry received a green jumper and a set of blue velvet robes from the Murphy family, and then came his present from Cillian.

Cillian took a walk with Harry, and they found themselves in the square of the Capitole de Toulouse. Harry had a bundle of nerves in his stomach from anticipation.

Cillian faced Harry, his transparent blue eyes sparkling. Harry was blown away. It was okay even if Cillian didn’t have a present for him, thought Harry, because he was enough. Cillian’s presence in his life was enough.

“Every day I’ve spent with you has made up for every bad year I’ve had in my life,” said Cillian. “You have filled all the empty spots in me…which I didn’t think was possible.” He smiled. “I love you, Harry Styles…” Cillian was getting down on one knee, and Harry was in shock. Cillian pulled a small, red velvet box out of his pocket and opened it to reveal a silver ring with a large, blue precious stone in its center, as clear and as dazzling as Cillian’s eyes. “So will you marry me?” Cillian asked, a grin on his beautiful face.

“Yes,” Harry breathed. “Yes, of course!” Tears were pooling in his eyes and overflowing onto his chill-bitten cheeks. Cillian slipped the ring onto Harry’s finger and stood up, kissing him deeply. They said a million _I love you_ ’s as they both cried happily.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any other gifts for you,” said Cillian. “All of my budget went to your engagement ring.” He couldn’t contain his smile.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I would’ve been happy even if you didn’t get me anything,” Harry said.

“That does make me feel better, actually.” Cillian laughed that wholesome laugh of his and started walking with Harry again, his arm slung over his shoulders (even though he was the shorter one). “So what did you get me?”

“You’re gonna love this,” Harry smirked as he reached inside his coat pocket. He pulled out a ring, and Cillian smiled.

“An exchanging of rings,” Cillian said as he reached out to look have a closer look at his gift from Harry. It was a gold ring with a cursive H engraved into the top. “I absolutely love it.” He put it on immediately and kissed Harry—his _fiancé_ —sweetly.

“That’s not all,” Harry said with a mischievous grin. There was a man standing a short distance away with his back turned to them. Harry led them over to him and tapped his shoulder. The man turned around, a smile on his face and an immaculate vintage guitar carefully held in his hands.

“Monsieur Murphy,” the man said. “Joyeux Noël.” The man handed the guitar to Cillian, who stood there in shock, and proceeded to walk away and then suddenly disappear. Cillian stood there stuttering.

“It’s a 1959 Gibson Les Paul Standard,” grinned Harry. All of Cillian’s dreams were coming true within an hour and he was overwhelmed, for lack of a better word.

“Fucking kiss me right now,” Cillian demanded, and Harry obliged, being careful to not push against the sunburst beauty in Cillian’s hands.

They walked back to the Murphy house, Cillian trying not to cry from joy on the way. Harry played with his engagement ring—his _engagement ring_. He was getting _married_. It was Harry who cried first, then, and Cillian laughed as he comforted Harry.

“This is the best day ever,” Harry said.

“It really is,” Cillian agreed.

Once they were back at the house, Harry pulled out the guitar case he had hidden in the closet.

“Thank God,” said Cillian. “Now I feel better about carrying it around.”

Before they left, the Murphy’s celebrated Cillian and Harry’s engagement, which they knew would happen since they had received a letter from Cillian weeks before. They filled the happy couple with confections before sending them on their way.

-

They were in London, a place where both Cillian and Harry felt at home. They stopped at their personal flats first, each mesmerized by the other’s decorative style. Cillian’s flat was clean, pastel-colored and full of light, while Harry’s was dark and cozy, with candles and vintage pieces all about. Harry could imagine their house together: light and comfortable, with antique leather furniture, warm blankets, and white molding. The prospect seemed so close, and it made Harry’s heart fuzzy with warmth.

They left their cats in their flats with unlimited food and water—regulated, of course. They weren’t about to have two obese felines on their hands. They also found that their flats weren’t too far from one another, which was convenient. Once Harry was done blowing Cillian on his bed—“Are you sure you want dick in your mouth not even an hour before you kiss your own mother?” Cillian had asked, but Harry just nodded and continued, eliciting a moan from Cillian— they started for Harry’s mum’s house.

…

“We’re engaged,” Harry said. They were all sat at the dining table: Harry, Cillian, Anne, Harry’s step-dad, and Gemma. Three jaws dropped. Anne’s eyes welled up with tears and she automatically got up to hug the couple in question. For never having met him before, she was extremely warm towards Cillian when they had arrived, because she could see how happy he made her son.

Harry lifted his hand, showing off the ring that he had received just that morning. While everyone else was looking at the ring, Harry was drowning in Cillian’s fond eyes. With his other hand, he stroked Cillian’s dark hair and pulled him in for a soft kiss.

“How long have you been engaged?” Anne asked. Harry and Cillian both laughed aloud.

“A day,” Cillian answered, smiling.

For the rest of the night, everyone shared a bottle of champagne whilst Cillian was bombarded with questions about himself, his family, and his plans for the future. _I was thinking we could maybe get a house in Dublin_ , Cillian said to Harry’s mum as he looked at Harry. She raised her eyebrows and continued to talk with Cillian as Harry imagined he and Cillian with a big house in Ireland.

That’s when Harry fell asleep. Cillian carried him to their room and undressed him, Harry mumbling the entire time and not offering any help. Entangled, they fell asleep, and when they woke up the next morning, Harry kissed Cillian and said, “Happy Christmas.” Harry then grabbed his wand (apple and phoenix, 12 inches and flexible) and lit the strings of Christmas lights all over the room. It was snowing outside the window, but they were very warm in Harry’s bed—something that made Harry complain when Cillian was trying to drag him out of it.

After 15 minutes, Harry finally deemed it time to get ready, and wore the green jumper he had received from Cillian’s family the day before. Meanwhile, Cillian had put on a very Ravenclaw-esque sweater, a blue and bronze knit. They walked downstairs, mouths drooling at the smell of the various holiday treats made by Anne and Gemma. However, opening presents was the first task on the day’s agenda.

Cillian and the Styles family gathered around the towering Christmas tree, covered in a blanket of sparkling snow that would never melt. Presents were passed around, everyone opening something at the same time. Gemma cheered at the sight of the medallion necklace he and Harry had given her. She hugged them both as Harry’s parents also expressed their glee about their gifts. Harry received even more vinyl records and candles to add to his infinite collection, and Cillian held in his hand a beautiful magic timepiece that he immediately strapped around his wrist. He expressed his thanks to Harry’s family, and sat content on the carpeted floor.

After all the presents were opened, Harry and Cillian ate plum pudding and thumbprint cookies as they snuggled in a blanket on the plush sofa. Anne started roasting the turkey and then sat herself in a chair, her gaze falling upon her son and his future husband.

“I see you’re Ravenclaw,” she said to Cillian. Cillian’s attention switched to her, and he nodded. “Is your family Ravenclaw as well?”

“Yes, my entire family has been Ravenclaw,” responded Cillian. “Were you and Harry’s father Gryffindor?”

“No, I was Gryffindor, but Harry’s father was Hufflepuff.”

“And Robin?”

“Ravenclaw.” She smiled. Cillian felt how similar Harry was to his mother. They had the same kind features and an everlasting charm about them. (And they were both attracted to Ravenclaws).

Cillian looked back down at the calm boy whose legs were in his lap, green eyes staring at him, in a daze. Harry brought his finger to Cillian’s face and traced his cheekbone as Cillian pulled his legs closer. Cillian leaned his head against the couch, smiled, and closed his eyes, dozing off while Harry touched him.

He awoke to the smell of turkey and potatoes, peas and gravy…and the loud explosion of a Christmas cracker, which shot confetti all over the living room. Gemma laughed at Cillian’s wide, now-awake eyes, and Harry placed a fedora atop his head.

“How do I look?” Harry asked, adjusting the hat.

“Hot,” Cillian said, nodding, an impressed expression on his face. Harry smirked and dragged him off of the couch and into the dining room. Platters were floating onto the table, and soon they were all sitting and celebrating both the holiday and Cillian and Harry’s engagement, smiles all around. They felt pure happiness and security.

-

Harry and Cillian’s contentment did not fade. They received congratulations from both teachers and students when they returned to Hogwarts. During the rest of the school year, they planned a summer wedding that would take place in a villa in Northern France.

When the wedding day came, they were as in love as ever, and their mothers cried for hours before the ceremony. Guests included Headmistress McGonagall, Hagrid, other teachers from Hogwarts, and various other friends and acquaintances, drinking bubbling drinks and making small talk as the grooms’ sisters helped them get ready.

Gemma tightened Harry’s gold tie while one of Cillian’s sisters helped tie his bronze one.

“Quite posh,” Gemma said as she looked over the pair. They were ready, Harry’s hair styled and Cillian’s loose but neat. They wouldn’t kiss until the ceremony, so they high-fived instead, making them both laugh. Harry often pouted before the ceremony from the lack of intimacy, to which Cillian blew him a kiss.

The ceremony was then in effect, Cillian standing at the altar as Harry walked down the rose-petal path toward him.

“Is that a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” Harry whispered into Cillian’s ear when he stepped into his place beside him. It made him laugh aloud, the wedding photographer capturing the moment.

“Uh, it’s my wand, actually,” Cillian said with a smirk, regarding the 14-inch beech and dragon heartstring wand, very flexible.

They read their vows, exchanged their rings (rose gold bands with a small lavender stone set into each so that it was as flat as the band itself) and, finally, kissed. It was official: They were married. They faced their loved ones and walked down the aisle, hand in hand with cheek-splitting smiles.

After the ceremony was the wedding feast and the cutting of the towering chocolate cake, adorned with edible magical creatures that sparkled as they wandered around the tiers. Everything was delectable, and every food-induced moan from Harry made Cillian want the night to end faster so that he could be in a bed with his husband.

Cillian got what he wanted eventually, ties thrown into some dark corner along with every other article of clothing after them. They used their time wisely in their French wedding suite, their actions passionate and followed by the perfect calm, the _h_ word dancing upon their lips, tasting toothsome in their beautifully tainted mouths, better than the breakfast brought to them in the morning (although that was splendid as well). Their eyes were bright with love and their hearts were content, ready to spend the rest of their lives together.

And they did—in a large white house in Dublin, commodious enough for a growing family.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this! Leave me a comment giving me some feedback :) Thanks for reading! x


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